Freedom at Midnight
by The Goliath Beetle
Summary: On the eve of independence, England has a conversation with one of his most complicated colonies. -India, England- No pairings. Rated for language. One-shot. Historical!Hetalia.


**A/N: Today is the Indian Independence Day. August 15****th****. India celebrates 68 years of freedom from the British rule, and with regards to that, I had to write this. It's been on my mind for months now, but I wanted to wait for this day. **

**Historical Notes: **

***The term **_**Freedom at Midnight **_**is often used for the Indian Independence, because India received her independence at 12.02 AM on the 15****th**** of August. Pakistan got its independence on the 14****th**** at 11.57. **

*****_**Angrez: **_**In Hindi, this term means 'Englishman'. It also refers to 'English' as the language. Obviously, the actual word is written in Hindi's Devnagiri script, but I've just written it in Roman letters to make it easier for everyone to read. **

***The Revolt of 1857: Also known as the Sepoy Revolt by British historians, and the First War of Independence by Indian historians, the revolt of 1857 was neither. There was a lot of dissatisfaction against the British East India Company, which was ruling India at the time. Princes and leaders from many parts of the country revolted. But it was disorganised, and these people did not have a common goal. There was no concept of a united India at the time; they just wanted to get rid of the British. Nevertheless, while the revolt was a failure, it stunned the British. They basically had to reconquer India all over again. After this, the East India Company was kicked out of the country and replaced by the British Crown. The English queen became Empress of India. **

*****_**Chai: **_**Indian tea. Yes, in the traditional form of making it, it does have spices. Not chilli, but if you have 'masala chai' (masala is a combination of spices), you'll know what I mean. It tastes different from the normal concept of tea. And it's pretty delicious. **

*****_**Atiti Devo Bhava:**_** As explained in the fic, this is a Sanskrit phrase that means 'The Guest is God'. **

***Divide and Rule: The British were experts at this. It was basically their go-to technique anytime things got a little too dangerous in India for them to handle. They'd play one community against the other, cause dissent and distrust, and basically destroy the momentum of whatever civil rights movement the people were coming up with. It's also how they managed to conquer India in the first place. If you read about this, it's actually pretty fascinating. **

***Brahmins, Shudras and the caste system: You must have heard of the caste system. This was basically a in-community stratification that the Hindus had developed, which spread to other religions in India as well. The Brahmins were at the top of the hierarchy, the Shudras (known as the Dalits today) at the very bottom. The Shudras were treated like slaves. Probably worse. This has been outlawed in India today. **

***The Amritsar Massacre: On 13****th**** April 1919, General Dyer shot down a crowd of non-violent protesters (including women and children) at the Jallianwala Bagh garden. The garden was walled on all sides, with only one small exit. The people were fired upon relentlessly, and they'd been ordered not to stop until all the bullets had been exhausted. They jumped into wells to try and escape. And Dyer later said that he'd also planned to use tanks on them, but the tanks couldn't fit through the entrance of the garden. While he hadn't been officially ordered to do this horrible thing, the British government did very little to bring him to justice. Back in England, General Dyer was seen as a hero. **

***The Indus Valley People, the Aryans and the Mughals: The Indus Valley Civilisation is probably one of history's biggest mysteries. It's not clear who they were, where they came from or where they went, but they had an extremely advanced urban civilisation. The Aryans (DON'T think about Hitler, just DON'T), were the people who came after the IVC, and with them came the beginnings of Hinduism. The Mughals, of course, were one of India's most powerful ruling dynasties.**

***Non-alignment: Post-Independence India followed the non-alignment policy. They didn't join either the of the two power blocs. **

***Also, India used to be an economic superpower. I don't know if this is true, but one of my history teachers once told me that when the British first came to India, they were mildly horrified that gold - that all of Europe was obsessing over - was being sold on the streets of India like grain. Once more, I don't know how true this statement is, but even today, India is one of the world's largest importers of gold. **

***Plague: The British brought the plague to India. A disease that the Indians had never encountered before, and had no idea how to deal with. **

* * *

_August 14__th__ 1947. _

_9.30 PM._

* * *

Gravel crunched underfoot as England walked down the path. His estate in India was huge, but the wrought iron gates were rusted, the plaster was starting to chip. The lawn hadn't been tended to in a while. The night above him was silent, starry, alive with the sounds of cicadas and owls and tropical scents flitting through the breeze. Everything seemed so normal.

The house wasn't lit, which didn't come as a surprise to him anymore. India didn't spend any time here these days. He'd built this estate to imprison the other nation, and for a long time, India had stayed. He'd protested, argued, violently reacted, but he'd stayed. He hadn't been strong enough to really do anything back then. (_Well, _England reminded himself, a bitter taste in his mouth, _t__here was that one time in 1857…_)

He slapped a mosquito that sat on his palm. Bloody bastards. He'd had such terrible bouts of malaria when he first came here. He was a nation, obviously, a simple disease couldn't kill him. But it hadn't been pleasant.

England readied himself for a lonely, silent night. He was too drained to make himself any dinner. Not even tea. Tea would remind him of the hours to follow, and that just made him sick. Tea of the sort India used to cultivate. Of course, India didn't like Earl Grey. He would stick his nose up at it. No, the older nation liked his _chai. _Tea with spices in it. _Honestly, you're such a cliché, _he thought, smiling slightly to himself. _Next thing I know, you'll be putting chilli in your desserts, too. _

Although he had tried Indian desserts. Milky, greasy, overwhelmingly sugary, and fragrant with cinnamon and cardamom and—hey wait, those were spices too, weren't they? Typical, typical India.

"You're home early."

The voice startled him. England jumped four inches into the air, whipping out the gun he always carried with him after WWII. But his heartbeat slowly stilled. He hadn't been attacked. That voice was familiar. Nobody was going to pounce on him. Germany was all the way in Europe, it was all _okay. _

The voice had come from the roof of all places, and England looked up to see a dark silhouette against the navy blue sky. India. What was he doing up there? What was he doing here at all? India never stayed here anymore. After 1945, the older nation had stuck a finger at him and said, "Your war is over. I'm leaving. If you and your other European friends plan to blow each other up again…well, you're on your own." India had been asserting his independence for so many years now, but he'd never actually just up and left. Where would he go? _This IS his country, though. He probably has hundreds of places to stay. Like the Red Fort? Perhaps…_But England had been too tired, too injured to argue.

"If you want your independence, fine. Just _fine,_" he'd snarled. "You'll bloody get your independence. I can't afford to handle your nonsense anymore either."

And India had given him a flat, cold look. "About time, _Angrez, _about time."

England had almost forgotten that he was staring up at the older nation. Only when India said, "Did I scare you?" did England jump once more and splutter something incoherent.

"W-what on earth are you doing here?" he managed finally, and as soon as he asked the question, a sense of panic for the other nation overwhelmed him. "Your independence ceremony is in a few _hours. _Shouldn't you be in Delhi? Goodness, India, I know you're always late for things, but on an occasion like—"

"Why do you care?" and suddenly, India's silhouette shifted. England heard his weight slap against the tiles of the roof, and out of nowhere, a hand came from above. "Get up here," the Indian ordered, and England didn't protest. He caught onto India's calloused palm (well, both of the countries them had calluses, really) and the older nation groaned a little as he pulled England up. _India is still not strong enough to be doing things like this_, England thought absently as he scrambled onto the roof, panting slightly as a winded India lay back against the slanting tiles.

"Are you alright?" England asked at length.

"Fuck you."

"…Okay."

India was in one of his moods, huh? England had always found him rather hissy. He knew the nation had enormous potential for kindness. He just never showed any of that to England. At the start, when India had no idea what England was doing to gain superiority, India had been positively charming. All of his princes were kissing Englishmen's feet, and India had always been hospitable. There was a Sanskrit phrase to that effect, right? India had told him about it once. _Atiti Devo Bhava. _'The Guest is God'.

Things changed very quickly, though. After India's first revolt for freedom in 1857, after the East India Company left and the British Crown took over, after India had been brutalised and beaten as punishment for his insubordination…he'd changed. The nation had become angry and ferocious, always snarling and snapping whenever England tried to talk to him. But it was such _impotent rage. _He wanted freedom, but there was no way he could have got it. His people were so divided. (And that was partially England's fault, too.)

The two countries said nothing. England brought his knees to his chin, staring silently into the crushing darkness. From a distance, he could see the lights of the city of Calcutta. The city he'd built. His first true mark on his beautiful land.

"Are you going to go to Pakistan's independence ceremony?" England asked finally, trying to break the silence. It was driving him insane.

"No," India replied, his voice distant. "I won't be able to handle it. I'm still in a lot of pain. I've never been…partitioned." He said the last word quietly, almost like it was something offensive, something vulgar. Something he was ashamed to say.

"Oh. Yes. Right. Are you…are you feeling any better?"

India didn't answer the question, but he didn't have to. England couldn't imagine what it would be like. Could India still feel Pakistan? Could he sense all the provinces that had once been India, but would soon be part of a new country? Probably not. Pakistan already had a personification.

"Pakistan's personification…what's he like? I've seen him around, the little kid, but he never talks to me. I've tried, but he's so…he's so distant." India's voice hadn't lost that quiet, ashamed quality.

"He's not very talkative," England agreed. "But he just glares at me a lot."

India laughed. "You deserve it."

"Perhaps."

"No, seriously, you deserve it." India was looking at him now, not that England could make out his expression in the darkness. He imagined the older country had a grave, pensive look on his face. He often looked like that when he was speaking truths. Truths of the deep, philosophical kind. England didn't understand most of India's philosophies, but he marvelled at them anyway. They were just so goddamn old. The idea that a _thought _or a _belief _could pre-date a country. Or that a _faith _could give birth to one.

His mind flit to Pakistan again…

"Look, I know you blame me for every leaking pipe and broken window in your country, but my Divide and Rule policy wouldn't have worked so well if your society wasn't as stratified as it was anyway," England retorted. "And let me remind you, it was an _Indian _that first prescribed the idea of a separate Islamic state."

"Your British bastards supported it."

"Of course we bloody did, you wanker. _Divide and Rule. _Let's face it, the reality is, I was going to play every dirty trick in the book to keep you with me."

"Yes, I know," India replied finally. "I made you rich."

"Damn right you did," England snapped, and then stopped himself. Suddenly, he was tired. Too tired to raise his voice. Too tired to be snappy. "…But you're leaving the empire tonight."

"Finally."

"Yes. It's been…interesting, hasn't it?"

India's laugh was dry and sarcastic. "That's one word for it."

The two countries lapsed into a shared silence. They were both thinking the same thing. Of all the nightmares that came with being coloniser and colony. Neither of them had had it easy. Oh, definitely, India had suffered. But Britain had been ravaged by malaria and heat. His people had been murdered by crowds of angry Indians. The two countries could never see eye-to-eye, unless they absolutely had to. In the world wars, India had slogged away under Britain's iron rule, only for the Indians to make a national army, allying themselves with the Germans and the Japanese. What a mess that had been!

But…but there were good things too, weren't there? There were some things they _did _agree on. Democracy. The parliamentary system. Tea. Cricket. India had finally taken to ideas of equality for all, a concept he'd been _horrified _to hear about at first. _"Wait, no. The Brahmins are NOT the same as the Shudras, don't be RIDICULOUS, England. There is a caste system here, and it's worked for us, so shut up." _England shook his head at the memory. At least this stupid social stratification wouldn't be encouraged in Independent India.

…India had changed so much.

So had England, for that matter.

"So…" the Briton said, "You never answered. What are you doing here?"

"The same thing you're doing. Remembering." India paused in thought for a moment. "I've lived so long, England, that I forget things. I don't remember who the Indus Valley people really were, although they gave _birth_ to me. I don't remember who the Aryans were, even though their kingdoms made me strong. I sometimes even forget the Delhi Sultanate. Or the Mughals." He glanced at England. "But there are some things I really don't want to forget. You, for instance."

"_Me_?" England spluttered. "I thought you'd want to erase every trace of me from your lands!"

"Oh," India said, his voice mild. "Don't get me wrong. I do. I'm going to change the name of every street and every city. Calcutta will be Kolkata. Bombay will be Mumbai. Madras will be Chennai. But those are just _names, _England. You can't erase over a hundred years of such intense, intimate rule. That would mean breaking down all the buildings you built. Purging the English language from the lands. Dismissing your every philosophy. And that would just be…silly. The world's changing. We're not as isolated as we used to be. The World Wars have proved that, haven't they? No. We need to integrate, step up and adapt." India fell silent for a few seconds. "I don't want to forget the things you've taught me. About unity, equality. I need that. My people need that. I've always been tolerant—you can't have my kind of diversity without tolerance—but diversity is a double-edged sword, and anyone can twist it to their advantage." His voice took on a dark, sonorous quality now, and England sensed his princely aura emanating. "I won't let _anybody _divide us again."

"Good for you."

"Shut up, you bloody hypocrite."

England sighed.

The Briton said, "…Listen, India, there's something we need to talk about."

India glanced at him. "What now?"

"I was reminded when you spoke about the World Wars just now. Look, the Cold War's pretty bad at the moment, and those fucking Soviets are going to try and woo you to their side. Don't. If you have to pick a side, choose the Western Bloc. We stand for democracy! Capitalism! And another thing, I know this will apply to you especially: you're going to have problems because of how divided India still is. So you need to—" he fell silent when he sensed the annoyance coming from the other man.

"England," India said finally. "England."

"…What, dammit? This is serious. Just listen to me for a moment!"

"No. No, _no. _I am DONE listening to you." His voice was softer. There was a smile in it. "I'll make my own mistakes. God knows I've made so many before. I'll learn. I always have. But I am not going to listen to you anymore. And don't worry about the Cold War. I'm not interested. I'm not going to align myself with any of you morons. I have bigger problems to take care of."

"What problem could _possibly _be bigger than a potential _nuclear war_!?"

"…Riots," India said simply, and now, England knew he was smiling. It was probably one of India's soft, fatalistic grins that showed he knew what was coming and had made his peace with it. "Oh, let me tell you, _Angrez, _there are going to be riots. Hindus, Muslims, even Sikhs. I can _feel _the tension in the air. Partition and all of that. It's going to be bad, and it's going to be soon. And I'm not quite sure what to _do _about it just yet. I don't want my people killing each other for something as petty as religion. God—all gods—are for love, not hate. It's so depressing when humans misunderstand that."

England blinked stupidly at the other nation for a moment, and then asked, "Have you heard about the crusades?"

And India laughed.

England did as well.

The laughter fragmented, like an empire wasting away. England was left sighing. India changed his seating position, crossing his legs under him.

And England was struck with a violent, profound sense of grief. The moon was out now, and he could see just the bare features of India against the night, his amber eyes piercing into the horizon, an unreadable expression on his lips. There were scars on India's neck. One on his hand. Probably hundreds of more all over his body.

Oh god, what had he _done _to this former economic superpower? India had been the land of riches. Of wealth and magic and art. Legends were spoken in hushed voices around fireplaces about this place, about this man. England could still remember the first time he saw India. They'd been trade partners back then. And he remembered being _shocked _at the amount of _gold _everywhere. Gold, pearls, rubies and diamonds and silks and spices and perfumes and things that England had only ever dreamed of…India had been so proud of himself. Such a narcissist. (He still was, but it was an evolved sort of narcissism that came with pain and suffering: national pride.)

What had he done to India? He'd _destroyed _him. In all those famines and droughts. In illnesses. In stupid taxation policies. In cash crops. In wars. In separatism. And for _what_? _What_? Money? Riches? How…how empty.

Oh god. Just how many innocent people had England killed?

"India," he whispered, and his voice cracked. A single traitorous tear slipped down his eye and traversed the curve of his cheek, hanging by his jaw for one dramatic second and then falling, falling down to his trousers. "India, I'm so sorry. I'm _so _sorry. Oh god," he went on, and this time, nothing could stop the sobs that wracked his frame.

India stared at him, wide-eyed.

"You've never apologised before," he said, quiet. "Not even after the Amritsar Massacre."

"It's n-not like I ordered G-General Dyer t-to kill those p-people," England whined through his tears.

"Perhaps not, but your government did nothing to really convict him." And then India stopped, shaking his head.

"You're right," England said suddenly, and more tears came. He couldn't stand this anymore. He couldn't, he just couldn't. Centuries of guilt and anger came flooding up in this one moment. His childish thirst for power, his ferocious need to protect it, constantly dismissing his conscience, befriending and yet loathing this complicated country, protecting him from invaders—the Portuguese, the French, the Japanese—and yet torturing him, beating him down. And then finally, _letting him go. _He couldn't cope with this emotion. It was too much.

Thin arms wrapped around him. The smell of spices as India held him close. There was no warmth in the gesture. There was only companionship. "I can't forgive you," India said, and England felt his heart break. "At least, not yet. I need time."

England nodded silently into India's chest, not even bothering to stop his tears. They must have sat there for hours. (But really, it must have just been a few minutes), and when England finally pulled away from India's grip, he felt cold. Cold in sweaty, muggy August weather. It usually rained around this time, but tonight, the sky was dry.

"I'm proud of you," India said finally, and he gently squeezed England's palm.

"I'm proud of you too, India," England replied, looking into the night sky. Once more, they sat in silence. England broke it, though. "Hey, can I ask a favour of you?"

"Nothing's ever stopped you before."

England glanced at India. Minutes ticked by. "Do you think…" and his voice trailed away. England took a deep breath and began again. "After tonight…after you become independent…do you think we could be friends? As equals, I mean? India, can we please, please part as friends?"

India blinked at him in complete astonishment for a moment. And then he frowned. "You know, England, I would hit you. I really would. I'd slap you across the face. But then, Gandhi wouldn't like that. So let me try to be as _fucking acerbic _as I can, okay?"

England winced.

"You're a selfish, stupid, childish—" and then halfway, India lost steam. He fell silent, his eyes dulling and his shoulders slumping. "Oh, fuck you," he muttered weakly, trying to save face.

"…India..?"

"No, England," and the older nation looked like he was going to cry. "I can't forgive you, and I can't be your friend. Not _yet. _It's too soon, don't you get it? Just…just give me time, you bloody arse. One day, I _promise_, we'll be friends. Until then…until then, we'll just be equals, okay? Equals who share a complicated, intricate history." Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, but he was smiling. And it was a genuine smile.

England stared at him, his whole body feeling light with happiness. "Thank you. Thank you _so _much."

India laughed, wiping his eyes.

"You best get going," England said finally, looking at the sky. "Your independence ceremony is in an hour."

"Oh man," India muttered. "That's frightening."

"Are you excited?" England glanced at him, a smile on his face.

"You have no idea. Freedom at midnight. How symbolic is that?"

"Extremely. Rather poetic, too."

"Yeah…"

India stretched his arms, crawling over to the edge of the roof and jumping off. England heard a soft thud as he landed on his feet, and then the words, "Are you coming to the ceremony, or are you going to sit there and sulk?" there was humour in his tone, and England caught himself grinning at the voice.

"Of course I'm coming, you bloody wanker." And England copied India, landing on his feet and dusting his trousers. The gravel path lay open in front of them. "Let's go."

They walked in step with each other, equals at last.

* * *

**A/N: As you can see, I've depicted their relationship to be very complicated. Because back then, it was. India has historically been an economic superpower. But it was after the fall of the Mughal empire that the British were finally able to colonise the country and suck it dry of its wealth. However, the British also brought technology, new ideas, new medication, that kind of thing. Being a student of history, I can't tell you that the British Raj was a good thing. But it wasn't a bad thing either. **

**The British were able to unite India. The concept of nationalism and nationhood came in. Old ideas—like the caste system—were rejected. Education and a scientific temper were developed. Obviously, though, this came at a cost. Literally. **

**Also, compared to the Spanish and the Portuguese, the British were pretty civil. When they colonised India in 1757, conditions were ripe for foreign rule. There was a power vacuum. Progress had stalled completely. It was chaos. Any one of the Europeans could have taken over, but the British, using Divide and Rule, succeeded. **

**To the English, India was a cash cow. Everything grew here. Spices, silk, _indigo. _The dye, indigo, was in such demand that farmers were not allowed to produce anything else. Not even food, leading to famine - lots of it. Indigo was also dangerous for the soil, since it sucked the nutrients right out of the ground, making it impossible to grow anything else. The British loved India, and it was often called the Jewel of the British Empire. **

**Anyway, thank you for reading this fic. It means a lot to me that you'd do that, since this piece is rather personal to me. ****Please review :)**


End file.
